“Correct. A point for the good-looking one. And who do you think runs that trading port?”
“Let me guess. You.”
“Two points. Care to make it three?” Her eyes glint as she circles us. “What do you think it takes to keep commerce here thriving? Little hint—it isn’t farm animals.”
“All out of answers, I’m afraid,” Zadyn retorts.
“Favors,” she whispers, a little too close to his mouth for my liking. “Pirates get a bad reputation—thieves, brutes, rogues. When really, we’re just independent contractors for those whose hands need to remain clean.”
My gaze narrows on her. “You’re mercenaries? For who?”
“Royals mostly. Or anyone with deep enough pockets. We don’t discriminate.”
“You’re employed by the kingdoms?”
“Who do you think reports on the borders? When someone needsto disappear, who do you think makes it happen? They want something? We get it for them—by any means necessary. My job is to keep the royals happy. And in turn, they make me rich and allow me to run my little market without consequence.”
“Your market?”
“Bleakwater Bay. You should have seen it before my father came along. Total shit-hole. And now look at it. Thriving,” she purrs. “As long as I comply with orders, I get free rein over the seas and the Bay. So unless you can provide me with a startlingly good reason to shatter the fragile alliance I have with the kingdoms, thenTheMaid of Mercysails west in the morning.”
I can’t actually believe that Derek would have employed the pirates to do his dirty work. That would require him having dirty work to be done. Although maybe that’s a naive thought—hewasa king. And no crown was ever kept with kindness and virtue.
“Look, whatever you want, we’ll get it to you. Just do not steer this ship to Vod,” Zadyn entreats, tugging against his restraints.
“And what if I want the world? Are you going to get it for me, handsome?”
The Pirate Queen—King—trails a finger down Zadyn’s chest, and the fury that attacks me has me snarling, fangs bared.
Zadyn’s eyes flash to me, surprised, but the pretty female slowly turns my way, a brilliant smile on her face.
“Possessive over this one are we?” She stops before me. “Tell me, do you breathe fire like your dragon?”
“Untie me and find out.”
She chuckles, appraising me from head to toe, before speaking.
“Leave us. I think it’s time for a little girl talk.”
It feelslike a full minute that we sit there staring at each other from across the desk, each tick of the carved antique clock on the wall dragging by with ironic leisure.
She purses her lips, eyes curiously tracing my face.
“Are you truly the last Blackblood?”
“Yes.”
Her hand unfurls, extending a pretty little switchblade to me. It springs open, boasting its silver brilliance. “I require proof.”
Glowering at her, I rest my elbows on the desk and accept the knife. The rope digs into my wrists as I angle the tip across my palm and flash the onyx slash to her with a phony smirk.
“Satisfied?”
She leans back, bemused, crossing her buckled boots over the corner of her desk. I flip the blade down and toss it to her. She catches it midair, watching as I make a show of wiping my blackened palm on the papers scattered over her desk.
“Oops. Hope those weren’t important.”
She chuckles, pointing the blade at me. “I like you.”
